


The Rocks That Surround

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, That's it, just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8823571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: In which Chris and Peter fuck





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petopher Appreciation Week Day 7: Free For All

Peter grunts as his back hits the wall, Chris' hand already pulling at his belt and undoing his jeans to work its way inside.

Fingers wrap around his hard cock and Peter can't keep the moan inside, the sound eliciting a smirk from Chris.

"That's it, Hale. You want this so fucking badly, don't you? Want to be bent over and fucked like a bitch. Bent over and fucked by a hunter."

Peter reaches out, claws digging into Chris' arm, the scent of blood hitting the air. "You going to fuck me, Argent, or just talk about it?"

Because Peter does want this. Wants to be bent over and split open in that way only Chris Argent can.

"Get on the bed," Chris orders, the roughness of his tone betraying that he's not as unaffected as he's trying to make out. Even if Peter can smell the arousal coming from him, can smell the precome tinting the air with its sharpness.

Peter holds himself for a beat, two, before finally moving. He's here because he wants this, because he allows Argent to pin him down, to drive into him. And he likes to make sure Chris knows that.

The look Chris gives him tells Peter that Chris knows exactly what he's doing, and he slaps Peter's ass as he steps away from the wall, sauntering over to the bed, pulling off his clothes as he goes and dropping them to the floor.

He's naked when he kneels on the bed, glancing back over his shoulder to see Chris stripping, Walmart jeans and t-shirt falling next to cashmere and Karan.

Chris makes it to the bed in three easy strides, cock hard as he grabs the lube off the bedside table and slicks himself up. The tube is open and half used, and Peter knows that Chris only ever uses it when he's there, knows that the only two scents in Chris' bedroom are theirs.

The bed dips as Chris climbs on, pressing his hand between Peter's shoulder blades to push him down onto all fours, fingers leaving a smear of lube on Peter's skin.

"You ready, Hale?" Chris asks. Even if he doesn't wait for an answer, even if fingers are already pushing into his ass, twisting and stretching in a way that's more perfunctory than anything else.

Peter groans as Chris' fingers move within him, the stretching nowhere near enough for Peter to take Chris' cock comfortably. But he doesn't care, because he wants to feel this, wants to feel Chris pressing in and breaking him open.

Chris pulls his fingers out, and there are no words before there's a cock against Peter's hole, hot and heavy and pushing inside. Peter scrabbles at the bed under him, claws digging into the sheet and ripping it.

"That's it, Peter," Chris says, as his cock settles inside Peter.

Peter's breathing deeply, and he can feel Chris' dick, throbbing in him, can feel Chris' pulse beating through him, reverberating its way through Peter.

A moment passes, and Chris' hand rests on Peter's hip, his fingers playing lazy trails over his skin before he pulls back. There's a beat, a single thrum of Peter's heart, and then Chris is slamming back inside, fucking him deeply.

And Peter can feel words welling in him, can feel the yes and the now and the harder, but none of them make it through his lips. Because he can't speak, can't form words, can't do anything beyond moan and mewl with each hammering thrust.

It's too much and it's not enough, and Chris' fingers are digging into Peter's sides, where he's gripping him.

"Fuck, Peter--"

Dropping his forehead to the bed, Peter pants through Chris fucking him, each breath pushed out of him like there's not enough room in his body for both air and Chris. He reaches under himself, wrapping his fingers around his own hard cock.

"That's it, Peter. Get yourself off." Chris' voice breaks in the middle of the words, panted out more than spoken.

Jerking himself roughly, Peter's groans as he slicks the precome over his cock, feeling it slip through his fingers and dribble down onto the bed. He jerks himself in time with Chris' thrusts, feeling the ball of want and need grow inside him. And it's there, just out of reach. He just needs--

Peter yells as Chris' fingers move briefly to draw down his back, blunt nails scratching over his skin and raising welts that Peter knows with heal in minutes. It pushes him over the edge he's been teetering on, and he shudders as his orgasm washes over him. His cock judders as he comes, ropes of white splattering onto the bed under him.

Moving back to grip at his hips, Chris' fingers dig into him, and Peter hears the groan, feels Chris thrusting into his ass once, twice, before he stills and there's a warmth spreading in him as Chris comes.

Chris holds himself inside Peter for long moments, before finally pulling out, and there's a wet trail that follows as Chris' come slips out of Peter's body and down his thigh. Chris laughs, low and sated, as fingers swipe through the come escaping Peter's ass and reach around, slicking themselves over Peter's lips. His tongue darts out to lap at Chris' fingertips before they're pulled away, tasting both himself and Chris, as well as the undertones of gun oil from Chris' skin.

The bed shifts as Chris moves, dropping down and snagging an arm around Peter to pull him down with him. And part of Peter thinks that he shouldn't be pressing himself back against a hunter, shouldn't feel so comfortable in an Argent's embrace. But Chris is more than a hunter, more that an Argent. Chris is Peter's, just as Peter is his. And Peter's just fine with that.


End file.
